


Fool's Gold

by kadaransmuggler



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, Modern Girl in Thedas, Modern Insert, Rating May Change, damn nikolai back at it again with the modern inserts, morrigan gets a girlfriend because someone needs to love and care for her, tags will be updated as I progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kadaransmuggler/pseuds/kadaransmuggler
Summary: A girl falls through time and space, and then she falls in love.





	1. prologue

                The Korcari Wilds were hushed and still, as if the whole forest was waiting for something. Deep within, a black-haired girl darts through the trees, a wooden staff strapped across her back, her golden eyes darting around warily. She knows the Wilds like she knows the back of her hands, and she knows that something is about to happen. She stops, panting, and stows her staff away in a hollow log. She stands still, her eyes shut in concentration and her head tilted downward. The air around her shifts and shimmers, and then a wolf with stone-gray fur is standing where she had been.

                In the distance, there is a flash of green light. A sound like thunder follows seconds later, but the light doesn’t disappear even though it dims. The wolf-witch opens her golden eyes and takes off at a run towards the light. It is fadng, but it lingers, and the sharp scent of the Fade hangs heavy in the air.

* * *

                Annaliese Hawking awakens with a headache. In fact, everything is aching. Her head, her back, her shoulders. She’s freezing cold, too, and she opens her eyes with a groan. A forest canopy stretches above her, coming into focus slowly. She sits up slowly, one hand on her forehead, as if she’s holding the pain back. She’s still in her pajamas, and she’s only got makeup on half her face.

                “Where…am I?” she asks, her voice raspy and hoarse. She remembers she had been in her bedroom, putting on her makeup for the day. She didn’t usually wear as much as she was putting on, but she had a meeting with her art teacher and she’d wanted to look nice, maybe give herself a false sense of confidence. She doesn’t remember what came next, and she doesn’t recognize the forest she’s in.

                It is early afternoon, the sun shining brightly through the trees, but there’s something darker in the air.

                Something rustles through the underbrush, and Annaliese jumps to her feet, headache forgotten, her hands coming up in front of her. She’s taken self-defense classes for the past three years, and she’d like to think that she’s learned something, but she isn’t prepared for the monster that shambles mindlessly through the underbrush and into the clearly.

                It brings with it a stench that pervades the air and lingers on everything. It looks almost human, but it’s flesh is rotting and its face is distorted. It meets her eyes with a growl, and then it lunges forward. She shrieks, lashing out at the creature, and the flesh gives between her hand with a squelch. The thing screams, drawing back just a little, and her hand comes away covered in a black, oily substance, and she thinks some of it splashed on her face. It comes for her again, and this time she can do nothing but dodge, her hands flying up to cover her face as she braces for a hit that never comes. The air shifts, and she feels something curling around the base of her spine.

                After five seconds, she lowers her hands. The creature is frozen solid in the middle of an attack. She looks down at her hands in wonder and then in terror. She knew she had done this, she just didn’t know how it happened or what it meant.

                The bushes rustled again and she turned around, her hands held up but her fists clench. A girl steps into the clearing, with black hair and golden eyes.

                “Well, well, what have we here?” the girl asks, a predatory smile making the corners of her lips turn up. Annaliese swallows heavily, trying desperately not to notice the smoothness of the skin left uncovered by the plunging neckline of the girl’s shirt and highlighted by the heavy gold necklace, and instead tries to focus on how strangely she is dressed. Her skirt is made of black leather, pieces patched together like a puzzle, and held up by at least four belts. Her shirt is a dark purple, and only has one long sleeve, topped by a pauldron of the same black leather. The other arm is bare, her wrist covered in bracelets, with jeweled bands around her upper arm.

                “Stay away,” Annaliese says, clenching her fingers tightly and lowering her arms.

                “Or what?” the girl counters, a smug and dangerous look in her eyes. She's much taller than Annaliese, and she knows she's a talented mage. She doubts the girl can pose much of a threat, even with the muscles she's definitely not appreciating. 

                “No, it’s not…I just don’t want to do _that_ to you,” she answers, motioning towards the monster.

                “ _You_ froze it?” she asks, golden eyes narrowing as she glances between Annaliese and the monster.

                “Yes. I don’t know how, though. It was attacking me, and I hit it once, but it’s surprisingly fast for something with rotting skin, so I just threw my hands up in front of my face and I froze it,” she explains.

                “Is this the first time your magic manifested?” the girl asks, stepping forward curiously.

                “What? Magic isn’t real. It can’t be real,” she says, bewildered. The girl shakes her head, her black hair falling into her face.

                “’Tis obviously what happened, then. Perhaps it has something to do with how strangely you’re dressed? No matter. Come with me. I’m sure Mother will want to know about you, and she’ll be able to teach you how to control your spells, if she’s feeling generous,” she says. Her tone tells Annaliese that she will not hear of another option.

                “Go with you? I don’t even know your name!” she protests, crossing her arms over her chest. She worries, momentarily, about freezing herself. Would it even work that way, if it were her magic?

                “Need I remind you that I do not know your name, either? You could be a madwoman, so deep in the Wilds like this,” she says, one eyebrow raised.

                “Fine. My name is Annaliese. It’s a pleasure to meet you, even though I am in some weird forest with no recollection of how I got here,” she says, a smile on her face despite the whole situation.

                “Now, that is a proper civil greeting, even here, in the Wilds. My name is Morrigan. Now, come with me. I’ve a feeling the return trip will take longer with you, and I’d like to get home before it has a chance to get dark,” she says, a faint smile on her face, turning and heading back through the underbrush. She stops, looking back over her shoulder as she holds a branch out of the way.

                Annaliese sighs, and follows.


	2. twinkle twinkle, lucky star

              Morrigan slips through the trees like she belongs in the forest. Annaliese had thought she herself was good in the wilderness, after years spending every spare moment outside in the woods behind her home, but she finds herself struggling to keep up with the way the witch moves. She thinks part of this might be due to her clothing- a skimpy nightgown made of silk and edged with lace doesn’t exactly offer much warmth or protection from the branches and thorns she tries to dodge. No shoes means no protection from the sticks, stones, and thorns littering the ground, either. In short, she’s thoroughly miserable- dirty, scratched, and shivering from the cold.

                “How much longer do you think it’ll take?” Annaliese asks, clenching her teeth as the wind blows. Morrigan stops and looks back at her, as if noticing for the first time the lack of clothes.

                “A half hour, I should think. I’ve got extra clothing stashed up ahead- sometimes I lose track of time, and the Wilds get much colder at night. There’s a pair of shoes there, and a cloak that you can wear. It wouldn’t do to have you freezing to death before Mother gets her chance to poke and prod at you,” she replies, turning and moving forward. Annaliese wraps her arms around her middle and ducks her head.

                “Where are we? It…It doesn’t look anything like home,” she asks, hesitantly. She’s almost afraid of the answer, but she doubts that she could discern what happened herself. The last thing she remembered before waking up in the forest was standing in front of her mirror, frowning at a palette of eyeshadow and wondering which would go with the shirt she had planned on wearing.

                “We are in the middle of the Korcari Wilds. Few venture into these Wilds. Tales of the Chasind and tales of Mother scare them away,” she answers, glancing around warily. The air isn’t nearly as oppressive as it had been before, but the sun is starting to sink lower in the horizon and the air is starting to grow colder.

                “I’ve never even heard of the Korcari Wilds,” Annaliese answers, ducking beneath a branch. She doesn’t think she’s ever been so uncomfortable in her entire life, even after spending an entire week camped by the riverside, bathing in freezing cold water every day.

                “You must be far from home, indeed. It’s a curious thing. Is your clothing normal, where you’re from?” Morrigan asks, stopping next to a log and kneeling down, reaching inside.

                “Sort of? Pajamas like this are usually only used to look pretty while you’re sleeping, or for…special people. I mean, they’re sort of commonplace, but most people don’t wear them just because,” she explains. She glances down at the nightgown again, noticing how the lace at the bottom has been ripped. She wrinkles her nose- this was her favorite set of pajamas, and the only set that she had bought for herself so she could feel good about herself.

                “Well, it’s certainly nice, if not practical,” she replies, standing back up, a staff propped up against the log and a bundle of fabric in her hands. She holds the cloak out to Annaliese. It’s lightweight, made of linen, and lined with fur for warmth. It’s the same deep purple as Morrigan’s shirt, a silver clasp at the throat, and she pulls it around her shoulders greedily.

                “Not that I’m complaining, but aren’t cloaks a little…Medieval?” she asks, sitting down on the log to pull on the boots Morrigan passes her. It’s still a far cry from a proper outfit, but she feels leagues better already.

                “What are you talking about?” she asks, her eyes narrowing as she shakes her head. She kneels down and helps her lace the boots up before standing again, strapping the staff to her back.

                “Most people don’t wear cloaks these days? Unless they’re on some weird historical kick or they’re cosplaying or something,” she answers, standing. Her muscles still ache, her head still hurts, but her feet are starting to thaw in the boots and she’s not shivering quite so hard anymore.

                “I don’t know how far away your home is, but people here wear cloaks frequently,” she replies, and Annaliese takes a sharp breath in.

                “Let’s just…go,” she says, swallowing hard. She doesn’t want to think of the implications.

                “Very well,” Morrigan says, a faint smile on her face as she turns and leads the way through the forest once more. Annaliese finds that it is much easier to keep pace with the witch when she’s wearing shoes.

* * *

                Morrigan leads her to a hut in the middle of a swamp. A woman stands in front of the hut, her arms crossed in front of her chest with a wry grin on her face.

                “Bringing in a stray, girl?” the woman asks. She’s the picture of all the wicked witches from children’s stories, Annaliese thinks, with a face lined in wrinkles and hair bleached white with age. She feels…otherworldly, too, like a being of immense power.

                “I thought this one might interest you, Mother. I saw a tear in the Veil and found her underneath it. She froze a darkspawn solid,” Morrigan answers, her spine stiffening. Annaliese notices the way she seems to lean away from her mother, her golden eyes hard and cold, and she wonders what has transpired between them.

                The woman walks up to Annaliese, tilting her chin up with one finger. “Well? Who are you, child?” she asks.

                “My name is Annaliese Hawing, although I’d prefer it if you called me Anna,” she answers, standing still as the woman walks around her, poking and prodding occasionally.

                “You may call me Flemeth. Where do are you from? How did you find your way to the Wilds?” she demands, stopping in front of Anna once more.

                “I’m from Johnson City, you know, in Tennessee. Still trying to figure out how I got here, though. Last thing I remember before waking up in the woods is standing in front of my mirror,” she says, trying not to fidget under the woman’s appraising gaze.

                “It seems we have much to work on, child. Come, both of you, into the house. There’s no sense in standing around outside while it gets dark, and you’re both cold, don’t try denying it,” Flemeth says, shaking her head to herself as she ushers the girls into the hut. Morrigan doesn’t hide her frown, her eyes still hard, but Annaliese follows gratefully, desperate to be in the warmth. _What am I getting myself into?_ she thinks, as the door falls shut behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will i ever have my characters be from somewhere that isn't rural as fuck, barely south america? 
> 
> thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed!!! as always, comments are appreciated, and i do my best to reply to every single one~


	3. you can't wake up...

                Silver Amell follows Senior Enchanter Irving through the Circle Tower, her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. She walks like the born noble she is, though she was young enough when she was taken that all she can remember is the way her mother sobbed in the streets, her father’s arm wrapped unflinchingly about her middle as the Templars carried her off. She has never held the Circle or the Chantry in high regard, not after she woke from nightmares with a demon wearing her mother’s face only to be met with a sword at her throat.

                “Are you nervous about your Harrowing?” Irving asks her, pausing at a landing. When her gaze meets his, it is cold and as hard as steel.

                “Is that something else the Templars will try to exploit?” she asks, raising one eyebrow. He sighs, looking away from her and gripping the railing.

                “You judge the Circle too harshly, child,” he tells her. Her jaw tightens, and she sweeps past him. She knows the way to the Harrowing chamber well enough- it at the top of the tower, and the only room with windows that are low enough to see out of. She does not need him leading her like a dog on a leash- or a pig to slaughter. She does not answer him.

                “I was merely asking so I could help you, Solona,” he chides, his voice gentle, and she doesn’t look back at him.

                “My name is Silver, Enchanter Irving. Are you so old that you’ve forgotten it already?” she asks, her fingers clenching into a fist.

                “Your mother gave you the name Solona. It is on all your official records,” he reminds her. She stops walking, tilting her head back and taking a deep breath. He is still several steps behind her, flagging enough that she can take this moment for herself before moving on, the hem of her apprentice’s robe sweeping over the steps.

                “If you had wanted me to care what my mother named me, perhaps you shouldn’t have ripped me from her arms when I was four. My name is Silver. Refer to me by that name, or do not refer to me at all,” she says, and there’s cold steel creeping back into her voice again. He does not respond, and Silver leads the way to the Harrowing chamber, the heels of her boots clicking sharply against the stone steps.

                Greagoir meets her outside, his helm pulled down over his face, and Cullen stands behind him. She catches a glimpse of the younger templar’s face as he struggles to pull his helm back on. She tries to hide her distaste- she’d been actively avoiding him for weeks now, ever since the tower’s gossip led her to believe he saw her differently than he did the other mages. She had been here long enough to know that such attention was dangerous, and mages weren’t meant to know who was assigned to strike the killing blow.

                “Has Irving briefed you on the Harrowing?” the Knight-Commander asks, reaching up to pull his helm off.

                “No, Knight-Commander. I’m fairly certain that’s against the rules. The Harrowing is meant only to be discussed within the Harrowing chamber,” she answers, giving him a thin smile. She strides towards the center of the room.

                “You are correct. I’ll keep this brief so we can hurry and begin- you are not the only mage we hope to Harrow today. You will be given enough lyrium to send you into the Fade,” he says, and he waits for some dawning realization to cross her features, some deep fear for her to show.

                “That is all?” she asks, incredulously, her arms crossing over her chest.

                “There will be demons there, of course, trying to trick and tempt you,” he tells her. She raises one eyebrow.

                “Very well. Let’s proceed,” she answers, biting back the retorts. She does not expect a challenge from this- she is faced with temptation every night as she sleeps, desire demons wearing the faces of those she cares about. When she was younger, it was her mother, calling out to her and asking her to take her in so that they might return home together. She was never foolish enough to say yes.

                The goblet Greagoir hands her is massive, and full to the brim with lyrium. She licks her lips, careful to keep her hands steady as she reaches up to accept the cup. She glances up at the Knight-Commander, giving him a sly smile. “I do hope you will keep me from hitting the ground when I enter the Fade,” she says, and then she tips her head back and _drinks_. Her veins come alive, singing with lyrium, and her magic is almost solid enough to touch. When Greagoir catches her, there is a grin on her face that doesn’t disappear even as she steps into the Fade.

* * *

                Annaliese steps out of the bathtub, careful not to drip water all over the floor as she wraps a towel around herself. She’d been filthy enough that Flemeth had deemed it necessary, filling a wooden tub with near-boiling water and tossing a sheet up for the illusion of privacy. Morrigan had been kind enough to lend her a spare set of robes, ones much warmer that ones the witch currently wore, and Annaliese wraps the towel around her head to keep her hair from dripping as she dresses. She steps out from behind the sheet, shaking her hair out and combing through it with her fingers. The gown she’d wore lays in a pile in the corner, with other dirty laundry, although she suspects it has been ruined.

                “Good, you’re done. Morrigan, be a dear and empty the tub while our guest sits down to eat,” Flemeth says, and Morrigan pushes her chair back from the table, looking thoroughly unhappy with the task.

                “I can do it. Morrigan can keep enjoying her meal,” Annaliese protests.

                “Nonsense, Anna. When you begin to eat yours you will realize it’s impossible to enjoy my mother’s cooking,” she answers, but she gives her a small, secret smile as they pass, one that only she can see. Annaliese returns the smile as she sits next to Flemeth.

                A bowl of stew is sat in front of her, steam lazily curling up towards the ceiling. A glass of water and a chunk of bread is pushed towards her next, and she digs in greedily, her stomach cramping as though just realizing how empty it was.

                “It is obvious you are not from our world,” Flemeth says, allowing her a few moments of peace before she begins.

                “It’s beginning to look that way,” she agrees, her expression guarded, but she’s much too hungry to play games.

                “I can feel an old magic clinging to you, girl, older than you can imagine, and yet a new magic clings to you too, one you don’t know how to use. You will stay, for a time, with myself and Morrigan, but there’s another problem at hand,” she says. Annaliese can see how serious this is, so she puts her spoon down as much as it makes her stomach complain, and fixes her gaze on the old witch across from her.

                “I don’t see how many more problems I can handle. I’m in a strange place, maybe a strange world, and I have magic I don’t know how to use. Morrigan told me it would make me the target of demons and spirits inside the Fade, and I have no idea how to fend them off. How much worse could it get?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. Flemeth gives her a grim smile, and even Morrigan stops bustling about in the background to listen curiously to what she has to say.

                “The problem, dear girl, is the darkspawn you killed. The blighted blood was still on your face when you walked in my door,” she says, and Morrigan’s golden eyes go wide. Annaliese furrows her brows.

                “So I got some blood on my face. What does that matter?” she asks. Underneath the table, she runs her fingers along the knuckles of the fist that had hit the monster, and she tries not to shudder.

                “The Taint is highly contagious. I’m afraid that you’ve managed to catch it. However, the King’s Army is gathering at Ostagar, and the demand for Grey Wardens has increased drastically. It is not the most elegant or pleasant solution, but should you survive it the Joining would provide a cure. Morrigan can get you to Ostagar in a few days, once you’ve had some scrap of training,” she says, calmly, like she’s describing the weather. Morrigan quietly turns back to her task, but she keeps her back turned to the table so no one will notice the shaking of her hands.

                “I don’t get it. What is this Taint?” Annaliese asks. Her fingers still in her lap, and a pervading sense of stillness and quietness falls over the hut, even as the fire’s shadows dance on the walls.

                “Let us just say that the Taint is what produces the creature you killed. You will not turn into an exact copy, but it will be close. If we do not get you to Ostagar, it would be kinder to kill you,” Flemeth answers, and Annaliese’s blood runs cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had meant for this to be longer, but yes, we'll be seeing more of silver in the next chapter. i hope this wasn't too rushed- i wanted to go ahead and reveal the taint aspect sooner rather than later, and i didn't want to leave annaliese for too long. feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought, and i'll see you next time! 
> 
> if you're looking for something similar to read in-between updates, though, i suggest my fic May Death Never Stop You. it has a similar concept and it's much farther along than this fic is. and, if you like fallout: new vegas, check out Big In Vegas. it's the same sort of story, except it's set in the mojave wasteland instead of thedas.


End file.
